Marijuana into Cuba: A Mission from Jah!

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By K of Trichome Technologies Pictures by K and Mary Jane

Recently I met K of Trichome Technologies and we became instant friends, I read this amazing article years ago in High Times but as with any magazine they can only print so much of the information.
For the first time every I am proud to bring to the digital world this amazing story and pictures.

Big Shout to K for his trust and friendship.


Enjoy

1. Marijuana into Cuba: A Mission from Jah!
2. Trichome Technologies in Cuba.
3. A Mission from Jah! Teach Cuba to Grow.
4. 18 19 Days in Cuba.
By K of Trichome Technologies Pictures by K and Mary Jane
14 days ‘til Cuba, my second trip! My mission? Teach Cuba to properly grow marijuana. Ganja to Cuba if you like. 80 grams of the purest-perfectly cured trichomes, placed into capsules, packaged to look like vitamins, two grow books by Jorge Cervantes; Marihuana Cultivo en Interior (The Indoor Bible) and Marihuana en Extiror Cultivo de Guerrilla (Outdoor Guerrilla Growing). Enough information to grow indoors and outdoors. Both books in Spanish covered and packaged to look like Bibles and vacuum sealed. 300 seeds of the Kryptonite strain, multiple winner of the California Marijuana Cups. The seeds are mixed in with a big bag of trail mix. Three pyrex pipes, screens and a small bag of fear, which I quickly tired of carrying so I got rid of it. My side missions are to obtain an Adidas Olympic (Cuba) starter jacket from the opening ceremonies of the games in Athens, Greece and to return a piece of Major Rudolf Anderson Jr.’s U2 spyplane to the U.S.A. Shot down over Cuba by Soviet missiles in 1962. The incident brought the Cuban Missile Crisis to a boiling point, and almost sparked off World War III. I’m not returning it for political reasons but simply because I love airplanes, exotic airplanes, war birds.

If caught or captured, the charges and penalties are many! Firstly, in the U.S.A., if caught with 80 grams of hashish and 300 seeds and grow books, shows intent to cultivate, the charges in Texas could range from 10 years to life. If caught in Mexico, the charges could range from a fat bribe to life in prison to anything in between or both. If captured in Cuba the charges would surely be severe.
Again, smuggling with the intent to educate and cultivate, plus 80 grams of hashish, would surely create an international incident and get you life in a Cuban prison. Lastly, being an American, I am forbidden to travel to Cuba. Actually, the Helms Burton Act prohibits spending money, i.e., trading with the enemy. Travel is legal if you obtain a permit from the State Department, have a Cuban sponsor and you’re only permitted to spend $167.00 U.S. per day. Americans caught traveling illegally to Cuba are subject to up to a $250,000 fine and up to 10 years in prison. I choose to travel illegally through Mexico. If caught appropriating/liberating a piece of the U2 spyplane I would definitely have my future in question. Anybody can waltz into Jamaica and teach growers to make water hash, all you’re carrying is fabric and silkscreen. But to go to one of the last Communist strongholds, one point in the axis of evil (claims the U.S. government), with a dictator who has ruled for 46 years and matter of factly very harsh on drug users and draconian-borderline grizzly towards drug smugglers – is an entirely different ballgame.
 

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The Cuban government hates my corrupt government, so the question why would any sane individual do this, comes to mind. The last time I was in Cuba the marijuana my friends showed me was horrible and they felt lucky to have it. The situation sucked. I decided then and there that I would bring cultivation information in Spanish along with good seed stock to Cuba. Hopefully by the time mobs of tourists come they will know how to produce fantastic buds for them to buy.
This is one of the most heated times to go to Cuba politically – for quite some time. The American and Cuban governments like to fuck with each other, somebody at the U.S. Special Interest building (there is no recognized embassy in either country) got the bright idea to pick at the festering scab that is Cuba/USA relations, and decided to put a sign-measuring four feet in diameter with the numbers 75 illuminated in lights next to a big snowman and Santa with Feliz Navidad and sleigh and reindeer, etc. in Christmas lights. The 75 signifies the number of political dissidents imprisoned in Cuba last year. The person/persons responsible should be ashamed of themselves, fired or better yet, taken to Afghanistan or Guantanamo Bay and stoned to death by Taliban warriors. Who are they to pass judgment? They are hypocrites and illuminate something that is none of their business, just for the sake of propaganda and to simply fuck with the Cubans out of patriotic ignorance or perhaps, boredom? The CIA have many times that number of human beings in cages in Guantanamo Bay as well as millions of American citizens incarcerated. More prisoners than any other country. The Cuban response to the 75 sign? Two weeks prior to my departure CNN showed part of the response – first they erected an American wall of shame directly across from the American X-mas display on the Malecon. The wall is 10 feet high and 60 feet long with Abu Gharib prison torture photos, with fascistica – made in U.S.A. at one end and a swastika at the other. Shocking and stunning all at the same time, brilliant! Then, in the street they painted a 40 foot chicken that looked like an American eagle, squawking with a blue t-shirt on, with a big letter “B” for Bush. Also they played loud music and speeches out of huge speakers at the Americans for a couple of hours a day. Then, they raised a large Cuban flag and a banner with a picture of Donald Rumsfeld driving a sleigh, dropping bombs, and shouting to his reindeer, “CA-Son los derechos humanos? Bombardear Bien derechos a humanos” which, loosely translated means, “ Oh go on – see the people, bomb straight at the people. Another billboard has a child writing a letter. A U.S. soldier holds his gun to the child’s head. The letter says “Y para el Nuevo quiero no le tiren mas bombas a mi casa y que no torturen mi papa”. Which translated means “For the new year I want that no tyrant drops bombs on my house and that noone tortures my papa”. At the top of the billboard it said, “ happy new year: Abu Gharib * Fallujah * Kirkut * Guantanamo”, with swastikas between the names.
 

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Next they hung a banner across the plaza where speeches and rallies happen that depicts an Iraqi prisoner tied to a bed with underwear on his face at one end and a hooded prisoner handcuffed to bars at the other and a swastika in the middle, 10 feet tall and 60 feet long – very visual. There were other billboards and banners, some celebrating the 46[SUP]th[/SUP] year anniversary of the revolution. A big sign said ‘Venceremos!’, meaning; “ To defeat all”.
Propaganda everywhere, the Hotel Nacional (The crown jewel of Cuba) even had a 50 foot tall banner of Fidel Castro wishing you a happy New Year! Incredible! A hot time to be in Havana to say the least! December 18, the preflight, I don’t like airplane food much! So, since I’m all packed and ready to go, I’ll make a couple of tuna fish sandwiches, and since Airport Security is now using chemical/swab/sniffer technologies at airports, now it’s not wise to smoke on the way to the airport – smoking before you shower in the morning before you fly is advisable! A positive color on one of those security swabs could seriously fuck up your travel plans, especially if you are carrying something illegal. So, I figured I would make some english muffins for the flight – coated with 10 grams of pure trichomes mixed with butter and slightly heated to infuse the two and convert the THC to an ingestible form. 10 grams on four muffins – Yum.
4:30 a.m. – BIAAA – smoke – shower – go to airport – 16 hours of travel ahead – through Security, no problem – a good thing as they did have me take off my shoes though – Fuck – all because of Richard Reed – some retarded asshole who tried to blow up an Airliner by lighting batteries or something on fire in his shoes? Now, millions of people everyday have to take off their shoes, crazy world! On the plane we were truly delighted to find we were in 1[SUP]st[/SUP] class – that’s the reason the tickets were so expensive! It would have been cheaper to fly to Europe then on to Cuba.
Airborne – half an hour into my flight I decide to have a muffin – no big deal until the first bite, then the second went well, on the third bite my lovely navigator/conspirator/Mary Jane snapped her head around glaring at me with that “What the fuck are you doing and stop it stare” – the smell of pure hashish is literally permeating every nook and cranny of the Airplane. Every time I exhaled the smell got stronger. The seemingly logical solution was to get rid of the source of the smell – eat the muffins, fast! – and try not to breathe. By the way, that only works for a couple of minutes! Then you have to breathe – more! So I turned to my conspirator/Mary Jane and told her to eat her muffins! She was pleased earlier that morning that I was kind enough to make her hash muffins, now, she detested me, there was so much hash butter on them it made her gag – again and again and again – like some twisted reality TV show. I did not intend to eat them all at once but now we both reeked – bad, and she’s about to puke with every bite. We had to get rid of the muffins. I ate all of mine – she wisely said, “Fuck this” – after awhile the smell went away as long as we didn’t breathe; the plane smelled like a skunk.
The first leg of the trip over we descended into George Bush International Airport in Houston, Texas – Ground Zero for the Evil Empire. I’m still half asleep but high as fuck from all the Wake and Bake 4:30 a.m. smoking and body rushes from the muffins. I’m still carrying the two tuna fish sandwiches in a brown paper bag like a schoolboy – a sick schoolboy, my stomach was turning and the thought of eating tuna was making me want to power vomit, so I abandoned them & Mary Jane wanted to ditch her last muffin and use the bathroom. Immediately after leaving the stall the cleaning lady entered and had to be wondering who tried to flush a muffin.
Walking past the slightly larger than life bronze statue of George Bush Sr. swinging jacket over shoulder and windblown tie – I wanted to puke all over it. On to Cancun, Mexico. A shit-hole – never go there, it’s a mutated Mexico/Disneyland world of $9.00 drinks. A two-hour wait and off to Havana. We were supposed to arrive at the airport at 10:20 p.m. but, as usual, everything is late. I do encounter a very busy drug dog in baggage claim, lucky for me he goes one way and I go another. Arrive at the hotel at 1 a.m. – my man in Havana “El Gato” has tired of waiting my arrival and retired for the night. I walk around the property of the Hotel Nacional and have a Cuba Libre and enjoy the ambiance, it’s nice to be back.
Built in 1930, there is a lot of cool history here, Che stayed in the bunkers in the catacombs on the property, Winston Churchill, Bugsy Siegel, Myer Lansky, etc., etc. 6 a.m. the following morning we prepare to fly from Havana to Santiago de Cuba – at 8 a.m. I phone “El Gato” who eagerly receives my call and rushes over to see me. It’s been two years and it’s good to see him. I give him 11 grams of hashish and a new pipe and screens – he gives me a note from our other Havana friend “Mr. Verde” or “Mr. Green,” it reads, “No body sleep. We waiting for you. Needs the Doctor for ourselves.” It was signed – Cuban People.
 

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The doctor in question is I. The help they need is the healing hashish they know I have. “El Gato” and “Mr. & Mrs. Green” and all our Cuban friends waited up late that prior evening for our arrival. But again, we were late getting to our Hotel. After our brief early morning meeting, El Gato was off to Wake and Bake our friends for a solid week!!! until our return. I exchange $ and get ripped off by the desk clerk, then we were off to Santiago. We told the cab driver we were going to the Airport and that’s where he took us! With a smile! Very nice! Pay the man plus the tip and drag all the luggage through the Airport only to find out we’re at the wrong airport – we’re at Jose Marti International – we need to be at Terminal 1 – so the next cab takes us to the next Airport – with a smile – pay the man, plus a tip – drag the luggage again – Fuck me – wrong airport – get taxi – again. How many airports do they have?, comes to mind. The next airport seems to be the right one – I think, but I don’t speak Spanish! Did I fail to mention that?
At the gate, they take our tickets and allow us on the soviet airplane so it has to be going where we’re supposed to be going!! Right? So off we go on an old Twin Prop Airplane. 3 ½ hours later I can see the Sierra Maestra Mountains, where Fidel, Che and the other revolutionary soldiers took refuge prior and during the start of the revolution. A little turbulent, but a fine landing and we were there – Santiago – And we’re tired – but it is the last flight we have to take until we depart Cuba. I exchange more money since I didn’t receive much back from the cashier at the Nacional. Then, to get our vouchers!! For payment for Hotel and Rental Car, the latter, “the car,” is something we still did not have reservation confirmation on. The man with our voucher, later to be known as Pinga Voucher, a.k.a. Bullshit Vouchers, has the one supposedly for the hotel and calls the Hotel Casa Granda to confirm our reservations which were o.k. The rental car company however, had never heard of us or any supposed voucher or reservations – nada – zip – Fuck it, we get a cab to the Hotel, we’ll deal with it later, we thought. The car ordeal haunted us for 2 ½ days.
To explain the vouchers; well, since it’s not legal for Americans to travel to Cuba, you must pre-pay a Canadian company for services, i.e., hotels, cars, etc., in order to secure reservations in advance. By credit card or Money Order, then, when you arrive in Cancun or Cuba, a man with a briefcase gives you these paper vouchers – they look like paper Airline boarding passes. You give these to the Hotel in lieu of payment, etc.
The Hotel Casa Granda is a stately hotel across the street from the town’s main square/park. It’s considered the Nacional of the east, very old school. Many interesting people have stayed here. It has a very nice rooftop bar and terrace below – both great for watching the hustlers scam tourists like myself. And watch the tourist cops try to keep the tourists from getting completely molested. It’s like a dance they do because, basically, it’s illegal for citizens to fuck with tourists, but everybody’s got to make a living. We check into our room, the desk clerk says the voucherman at the airport called ahead and the room is Pre-paid, o.k.?
So, back downstairs to see the in-town rental car guy! as opposed to the Airport rental car companies? There are two, one across the street from our hotel and another downstairs from our hotel, both say – No car. I ask, “when will you have a car?” Their response? No car!
Then, like a magnet, the town square beckoned and called us closer to stand in line with the other tourists from all over the world to get your Guide, -- don’t worry he will appear – and want to ask you the usual bullshit, where are you from, what do you need and can I show you how to give me some money? The Cuban name for your guide is Jineteros, loosely translated, Tourist Jockey, because their job is to ride the tourists for money!
Unfortunately it was late in the day and our Jockeys happened to be leftovers or rejects, two of the shadiest fuckers I’ve met in Cuba, damn. So they ask us the what do you need part of the speech and we make mistake number one, opening our mouth. We should have kept walking, we knew better than to stop and engage in conversation with the Jockeys but the power of the Plaza Square made us tell the Jockeys we needed a rental car. FUCK ME! So, we’re united with our guides and off to get a car/robbed.
The other rental car guy says, you guessed it! “No car!” OH NO! Trapped in a town I only wanted to spend one day in. Back to the airport! Oddly enough our guides were able to get us a ride in a jalopy car, a shit car, not the cool old cars in the postcards/movies, etc., and the ride only cost $25.00 U.S. Amazing – the same ride in a new taxi only costs $6.00 U.S.
This is my first indicator that I have first-rate guides. From the airport we go to the Castillo de Morro, an incredible Fort/Prison at the mouth of Santiago Harbor, we view cannons from the 1500’s etc. – back to the hotel to regroup and smoke – the room has open windows to a communal courtyard, so in-room hash smoking was out, so we smoked in the bathroom with the fan on. FUCK. Back outside our guides await and show us around and around. At dinnertime our guides suggest a friend’s rooftop house/restaurant, I ask how much and get that famous line, “For you, it’s cheap – no problem.”
That was my signal to run away, but stupidity prevailed and we followed them like sheep off to slaughter. The bill for dinner, for four – guides included, was $140.00 U.S. I flipped the fuck out and told all concerned that this in English is called “fucked” and did they understand “fucked”? It was going to be a big battle that I did not feel like dealing with. After posturing and shouting the man settled for $60.00 – still twice what he deserved. The rental car guys had all said maybe tomorrow. Another guide suggests that maybe we should give the rental car guy a “present” = tip = bribe! $100.00 U.S. maybe? Long story short – everything costs money in Cuba. We pay the bribe the next day. We saw very little of Santiago and were glad to leave, I wish I could have seen more. As a parting gift the rental car man gave me the keys to the car and a $7.00 bottle of 7-year-old rum for the road. Ah, Cuban hospitality. Also he supplied a guide to show us the way out of town and one-third of the way to Baracoa. The crook rental guy said to pay the guide $5.00 U.S. - $10.00 U.S., whichever I preferred. I paid him $20.00 U.S. His service was valuable and I was so happy to be out of Santiago.
The car is a nightmare, every time it’s stressed, i.e., moving, it makes a beep-beep-beep sound. I can’t locate the source of, nor the reason for, the mystery sound, but trust me when I say we heard that sound constantly! I even heard beep-beep-beep in my sleep.
 

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On the road to Baracoa and it’s a wonderful but daunting feeling, traveling Cuba by car is an incredible yet sometimes difficult experience. Very few road signs and unusual third world road conditions make things fun, kind of like a video game! In cities and towns the traffic, i.e. bicycles, trucks emitting clouds of thick black diesel exhaust, horse-drawn whatevers – huge bulls, goats, pigs, dogs, stretches of rice drying in the street, people, etc., etc. – will keep you on your toes.
On the Autopista Nacional, the main highway, there are few cars and you can really move. I drove 140 – 155 KmPH most of the time on this highway. The speed limit is 80 – 90 KmPH. But as a tourist, with a new tourist car, the police will rarely stop you or even look at you. Even if they wanted to stop you they could not, their cars (old Russian Ladas) are not even close to being able to catch you as they’re all worn out.
We pass through Guantanamo without stopping, the last thing we want to see at this point is American military personnel. The American soldiers never leave the base as it is forbidden by both the Cuban and American governments. After Guantanamo the land changes rapidly, as you drive through three micro-climates that overlap from plains to desert next to neon blue ocean – there were huge cacti growing right next to the sea. A few more miles and the desert overlapped the mountainous jungle.
The mountains on the way to Baracoa are incredible. Palms next to pines, a coffee-growing region as well as cocoa for chocolate. In the high mountains we stop to buy big balls of raw cocoa pressed into balls, tangerines, which were excellent and Polymitas shell necklaces. Polymitas are a rare snail that is indigenous to this special area. They are brightly colored bright red and yellow, very beautiful shells. Also we bought some mountain coffee, all from the locals who pick – roast – and package, in 1 oz. packets, some ground, some whole bean, 1 oz. for $1 cuc (convertible Peso).
This coffee is mainly sold to the tourists from the roadside as it is very difficult to smuggle it to the city for citizens because it is black market coffee and Cuban citizens would have to pass through a Ponta de Control or Point of Control – a check point, if you will; where their papers etc. are checked, searched for contraband, etc. These checkpoints are spread out all over the country and are only for Cuban people, not tourists. They are a way of controlling the movement of the people. Just more oppressive bullshit the people have to deal with everyday.
We briefly drive through Baracoa, we drive along the Malecon, by the Spanish fort, the Fuerte dela ponta to El Castillo de Seboruca, a fort begun by the Spanish in 1739 and finished by the Americans in 1900. Baracoa was founded in December 1512. It was the first Spanish settlement in Cuba, Christopher Columbus called the area Porto Santo.
At El Castillo we reserve a room a few miles away at Playa Maguana, a contender for one of the best beaches in Cuba. Palm trees and jungle right next to 1.3 mile beach. We stay on the beach at a hotel that only has five rooms and is quiet and secluded. Just what we needed after 2 days in Santiago, air travel and a full day’s drive. We have a nice meal and a nice tranquil night.
The next morning we’re up and off to Santa Lucia, because of the lack of car situation, we’re off my intended schedule and now have to make up time, so we have to do two days driving in one. Back up the mountains, through Guantanamo up to Santa Lucia, a total hell trip, all fucking day driving, 3 stops – 15 mins. each. Racing the sun.
My navigator was not a happy camper. It’s 7:30 p.m., dark and we’re mildly lost. We have to flag down a local with a flashlight and he sends us on our way in the right direction.
We arrive at the hotel/resort at 8:00 p.m., totally exhausted. I check in and look out to Mary Jane, only to see she has been absorbed by an arriving tourist bus full of Italians and they think she’s one of them so they’re taking her luggage, giving her welcome drinks, salsa music, all the things she wants none of. We separate ourselves from the mob and go to our room. Apparently the only cow in the area has decided to shit outside our door, kind of like a welcome or something, except this cow had serious stomach issues, suffice to say there was splatter everywhere. Lovely.
We went swimming in the ocean by the moonlight – it was cold. Next, we thoroughly relished the hot water in the shower. December 24[SUP]th[/SUP], up early, still weary and achy from driving all day, have a nice breakfast and decide to stroll the beach, anything but more driving.
After our walk and before we leave we have some espresso, X 4 for me, thank you, and the Italian tour guide is eyeing us, you can see her doing the mental math, she does not remember us from either selling us the vacation, to the airport, to the busride, she just can’t place us, can’t remember just who the fuck we are, so finally she approaches and speaks to me in Italian, which I don’t speak, but I knew what she was politely asking – who the fuck are you and how did you infiltrate my group without my knowledge? She was puzzled! She had a clipboard with Italian peoples’ names on it so I pretended to understand her and pointed to one of the names which baffled her even more! Then I had to laugh and tell her I was not a part of her group and she seemed relieved. The two minute interaction seemed funny to me but, like they say, I guess you had to be there.
By now the 4 espressos were kicking in and it was time to leave. It was difficult because they were preparing the X-mas Eve festivities – spit roasted pig, etc., etc., etc., and we were off to a festival we were not sure still existed, Nobody! Not even our Cuban friends had even heard of this festival. Mary Jane was very skeptical, better yet, disbelieving such a festival was possible in Cuba. I told her it was a X-mas Eve fireworks festival called Las Parrandas, a 200-year old tradition, in the town of Ramedios. Some guidebooks said it still existed, some said it did not. Boy, were we in for a surprise! A fucking surreal, mind-blowing, insane surprise. We stayed late in Santa Lucia until 2:00 p.m.
So again we were late – racing the sun, we momentarily got lost in Maron and that killed an hour and now we’re paying for it, the sun was quickly vanishing and we were racing to some little town expecting to see one guy in the town square holding a sparkler! But, who knows? After all, this is the town of Vasco Porcallo deFigueroa who in 1545 had 300 children.
Along the way we began to follow a fairly nice fancy Lada car moving fast for a Lada – 70 – 80 KmPH. At one point we came to an impasse with a bull in the road, a huge bull, 2000 pounds of bull with five feet of horns tip to tip – left in the road on a leash like a dog. At this point the guys in the Lada got out and nicely encouraged it out of the street! A good thing too, because I was not even going to get out of the car around that thing; I would push it out of the way with the rental car before I got out and led it by a leash!
At this point I asked the guys if they were going to Remedios? They answered yes! And I asked if it was o.k. to follow them? Their answer was again, yes! And they asked me if I wanted a drink trying to hand me a half a glass full of rum, AH, Cuban hospitality! I regretfully declined as venturing into the unknown I must keep my wits about me!!!
 

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On our way again and following somebody who knows where they’re going in the dark. We momentarily stopped again to pick up hitchhikers on their way to the festival. They picked up a girl to talk to on the way and we picked up a young couple.
As we pull into town I start to realize there are more than a few people here, but still I had no idea what awaited us. As a wise man somewhere once said – sometimes shit happens for a reason and if we hadn’t gotten lost in Maron we would not have met up with our new guides and these guides saved our Asses, period.
Unbeknownst to us we had just driven into 2,500 people strong of Apocalyptic Chaotic Anarchy! Complete pandemonium! There is only one hotel in Ramedios, it has 10 rooms, all booked since last year’s festival. If not for my awesome guides I would have wisely retreated and left that town! To where, I don’t know. In the dark and unexpectedly overwhelmed, X-mas Eve and no room in the Inn! Sound familiar?
My guides had me park my car and assigned one of their guys to watch both cars, but I had Mary Jane stay behind so we would not quickly be separated from our car, luggage, cash, passports, etc., etc. After the hotel we went to a Casa Paticular (a house for rent), no luck – full, next one – full, next one a gentleman came out and said, “I am an English teacher, how can I help you?”
I told him I needed a room for the night and a secure place to put our luggage plus a very safe place to park the car. He said his name was Juan and he would handle everything! At this point, intelligence says, ‘This could be a good thing! Or a bad thing!’ My instincts said, ‘go with it,’ so I thanked my guides profusely, tipped them generously, and bid them adieu. So, I’m off, back to the car, through throngs of people where Mary Jane awaits. Juan, Mary Jane and I take the car to the Casa, I pay $30.00 for the night, not including meals, unload the luggage and we’re off to park the car while Mary Jane watches the luggage, because I’m still very leery of this whole situation. We take the car to a man who says for $10.00 the car will be completely safe – no missing fuel, oil, trans fluid, wiring, spare tire, completely safe. Juan says he is a pastor at the church across the street and is an honest man and I believe him. Car parked, we go back to the Casa. On the way, Juan tells me I must be very careful tonight! He tells me the streets are filled with thieves – and pickpockets – for real, no joke. He warned me over and over. Finally I told him we were spending the festival with him and his wife. He said he would be glad to be our host for the evening.
Back at the casa, Mary Jane has ventured out to the town square and when I return she is electrified, awestruck, she says it’s unbelievable. We have dinner and change clothes getting ready to go out for the night. Our host tells us to get rid of anything of value on our person, everything. He assures me the luggage is safe and we’re off into a sea of people, walking towards the center of the town two blocks away. We’re just in time to get a beer and get ready for the festivities, or so we thought.
Nothing but eight hours in a battle zone could prepare a person for these festivities. Plaza Marti is the center of town and the dividing line. Half the town is considered Carmen, the sparrow hawks, their color is blue. The other half of the town is called San Salvador, the Roosters, their color is red. At opposite ends of the Plaza were 4 floats, 2 for Carmen and 2 for San Salvador, floats that would eclipse any float in the world. Not Rio, Las Vegas or anywhere else could compete with this. These people do things BIG. Between 40 and 50 foot tall and very complex with lights flashing in sequence creating incredible patterns, one was a Roman Chariot with people dressed as Roman Gods, the most incredible thing I’ve ever seen.
The objective to all this chaos is to challenge and outdo each other with pageantry and fireworks! Eight hours of fireworks. Large fireworks, the type most displays finish with, these pyrotechnic maniacs started with. Exploding just overhead, fire and raw gunpowder raining down on the crowd. Again! For eight hours straight. Wow. Christmas Eve will never be the same for me ever again, because I know in Ramedios there is a big party.
Mary Jane says she’s going to the casa to use the restroom and she’s off. Juan does not like her being alone and sends the owner of the house to make sure her trip to and from the house is trouble free.
They return with Mary Jane smoldering!!! Soaked with beer!!! Apparently a ball of fire the size of a large orange came down from the night sky, striking her in the chest continuing downwards to slightly burn both her forearms. Upon seeing this, a Cuban man rescued her by throwing his beer on her to put her out, classic.
The full moon is completely obscured by smoke the whole night, continuously. After seven hours of this madness our bodies are tired and our senses overloaded, so we retire back to the casa at 8 a.m. We install earplugs and lay down like we intend to sleep as we’ve had many miles driven and few hours sleep the past few days. After laying there for maybe three minutes I open my eyes to see Mary Jane with hers open also and we both start laughing!! When we close our eyes we can still see the flashes and feel the explosions above our room and the frequency and intensity was building, the big finale was near.
It was a true war zone, one year the festival yielding three burned down houses, another year a storage container full of fireworks exploded, destroying eight homes and killing one person. Awesome and terrifying all on X-mas Eve. Apparently we will not sleep this morning, so we just try to rest a bit and get up for breakfast with our hosts. Juan and his wife invited us to his small family farm so we re-assemble the luggage with the beeping rental car, thank our host for the wonderful hospitality and we’re off to a very small town called Vinas – 7 Km from Ramedios. We spend half the day enjoying small town Cuban life on the farm with country folk.
 

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Midday, sleep depravation began to catch up with us so we departed Vinas leaving Jose with a generous tip (most Cubans only make $9.00 U.S. per month plus Rations, from a rations book, of which they only receive half of their monthly allotments) and gifts for his students and family. We drive to Carabie, where we pay $2.00 toll to drive on a causeway into the sea. Well, not into the sea but a series of bridges connected by long stretches of elevated road that goes to Cayo Santa Maria, a series of all inclusive resorts full of tourists from all over the world.
But, at this point, I just want to relax and not think, and to smoke on one of Cuba’s best beaches on X-mas Day. Because we had no reservations, we got raped on the cost of the room but fuck it, I just want to melt I’m so tired.
Once we check in they give you your wristband to prove you are a guest and you’re off; all the drink/food/espresso you want. The rooms were nice with balconies and the beach was better, but the weather had turned a bit cool so we swam a little bit and smoked some more fine hashish. Dinner was buffet style, with a twist, since there were many tourists from different parts of the world, all expecting their traditional X-mas foods, the variety was incredible. I was so tired and stoned I wandered from food court to food court just marveling at all the different stuff!!
The catch is that all the food sucked. In Cuba, food is bad, period! Unless it’s cooked in a Palador (privately owned restaurant), even the food in the finest hotels tastes bad. The embargo crushed all culinary flavor. After stuffing ourselves with mediocre food and drink, we strolled over for the entertainment. Part of the evening, drinks in hand, we listened to a very good Cuban orchestra play Moonlight Sonata to a big bright full moon, combined with the warm weather it was incredible. After this we slept late the next day. We decided to stay one more day and then it started raining, then the wind, etc., etc., so we just lounged/rested smoked and recharged our batteries for the rest of the journey ahead.
The next day, the weather was still bad so we left for Havana. Six hours later we arrive, we’re a day early so El Gato is surprised to see us, it’s pointless to go to a hotel so Mr. Green offered us the hospitality of his home for the evening, which we greatly appreciated and accepted. That night I was able to give my gifts to my friends. They were all amazed I had put my life in dire jeopardy to bring these gifts to Cuba.
I gave the bag of trail mix to El Gato and he said yes, we call this trail mix! I had to laugh! I then pointed to all the marijuana seeds inside as he was about to grab a handful and eat it! Armed with invaluable information, quality seed stock and some hashish for inspiration, my friends assured me it won’t be long before Cuba is producing excellent ganja for themselves. They and all their friends were very grateful.
Inside the covers of the books I placed Trichome Technologies decals and wrote the date that they had arrived in Cuba and who brought them. I asked that everybody read the book and place an ‘X’ inside the covers in case I ever see them again, I will be curious as to how many will read them.
Early the next morning El Gato, Mary Jane and I leave Havana headed for Vinales, the world famous tobacco growing region on the western side of the island. My mission is to be the first to plant world class, top quality, marijuana in this region. Symbolically, as I won’t stay to care for it. The drive is excellent as El Gato is along woodcarving and hash smoking in the backseat.
Vinales is incredible, it’s almost pre-historic looking with half-domed flat top mountains called Mogotes, covered with Palm trees, ferns and jungle-type flora, some hollow with caves in them. It truly is a breathtakingly beautiful place. Up the valley is San Vincente valley, we take a rest at Balneario Diego de Los Banỡs, a mineral water spa and lounge for a bit! The water was relaxing and nice. We met a posh-type English girl who was hanging out in town and had also seen the X-mas fireworks. Her claim to fame was that she had been arrested for Cannabis in every country he had been to, wow. I did not want to share this experience with her. We’ll see her later that night.
All hotels were full and do not lodge Cuban citizens anyway. So we venture off to find a casa paticular, but I want a house in the country/mountains instead of town.
We ask around and soon have a mountain villa all to ourselves for $30.00 a night. Our host was not ready for guests yet so we went to see the mural de la Prehistoria, a huge cliff-face mural painted by campasino farmers. The man in charge of the project was Che himself. On the way back to the house, we stop to purchase some Bucanero beer, pineapples, grapefruit and oranges for later. Again, we had incredibly wonderful hosts, who provided delicious meals for $6.00 U.S. each.
We unpacked and marveled at our location. El Gato had never been here before, he was shocked by the beauty. We strolled around a bit and El Gato just walked over to the side of the road and picked a Psilocybin mushroom. He says he collects them twice every year.
That evening after dinner we head into town to check it out, it’s very small. There is basically two drinking establishments, right across the street from each other, which is good, in that you can hear the music from both and it’s great for people-watching. We start a conversation with three Basque guys and the topic of hashish came up and soon Mary Jane, El Gato, three Basque guys, the English girl & myself are stuffed into this little car, squealing ‘Beep Beep’ all the way!
Finding a safe place to smoke in unfamiliar territory is always fun, and a serious matter in Cuba. We go out into the countryside a few Km and pull off to the side of the road and we all walk into the middle of a harvested sugarcane field. Under a big, bright full moon, and it’s like daylight. We have a nice multinational smoke session, a meeting of heads, if you will. After this we went back to our casa and the owner was waiting for us, flashlight in hand, guiding us into our driveway! Wow! That’s service.
 

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The following day we take the more scenic route, the Carretera Central to the Circuito Norte through the Province and then along the coast West of Havana. Before leaving San Vincente, El Gato and I had our dates with destiny and we planted our precious Kryptonite seeds in this famous region. We selected a spot with fantastic loamy, airy soil, slightly moistened from the nearby stream with excellent sunlight. I only wish I could stay and care for them, or better yet, that they grow and sew and replicate and reproduce themselves all over the island. It was an incredible feeling to know you truly are the first person to plant quality cannabis in a country as beautiful as Cuba.
On the way back to Havana we passed a kid with a kite or a ‘Papalotes,’ El Gato called it. The kid had his stuck in a tree and I happened to have a real nice new one with me, so I turned around and went back to give it to him. When I pulled the car up to him he looked at me with a little fear in his eyes, he was a real country kid with probably little or nothing in this world to call his own but a kite stuck in a tree. As I got out of the car, he abandoned the kite and started walking away real fast, then skipping to exit quicker, I said in English, “Wait, I have a gift for you!” and he kept going so I said to El Gato, “Hey, give this kid this kite.” Well, El Gato does not know what the word kite is but he knows I want the kid to have whatever it is inside this package, so he yells to the boy, “Hey! He wants to give you a gift!”
Well, the kid starts flat out running now. He had clearly been told to stay the fuck away from tourists; they’re monsters. Well, El Gato runs after the kid and disappears. I’m concerned about the situation that’s transpiring and El Gato’s safety, so I quickly turn around and head towards the direction El Gato ran, not knowing if I would find him with a farmer’s pitchfork at his throat or what.
Instead, I found a very happy child and a smiling mother and El Gato. I apologized for almost getting him killed. We all had to laugh at the insane situation and smoke more hash. The drive back to Havana was beautiful and upon arriving we dropped off El Gato and made arrangements to meet the next day.
Back to the Hotel Nacional, I can’t wait! But, it’s December 29[SUP]th[/SUP], two nights until New Year’s Eve and we have no reservations, but we tell the desk clerk we do. She looks but to no avail. She says she might just have one very nice suite left and I tell her I would make it worth her while and I did, so we got the room, a very nice room, , overlooking the monument de Maine, the Malecon (The site of three automobile grand prixs.) Also, across from our window is the amphitheater where they hold most of their political rallies and since it was three days until the anniversary of the revolution, there were events every morning and night. Incredible.
That night we eat and sleep. The next day we go shopping for food and supplies for our New Year’s party that we’re having with all our friends. Suffice it to say that shopping in a Cuban tourist supermarket is a bizarre thing. They even have frozen Tyson turkeys from North Carolina, U.S.A. Later that day we go to Cojimar to El Gato’s parents’ house. On the way I receive my first Cuban traffic ticket – a bogus charge, I assure you, but I was fined anyway. I remind El Gato to keep me out of these types of situations, if possible, i.e., keep his eyes open; don’t be a stoner and quit sleeping in the back seat.
After this minor adventure we return to Mr. Green’s house for a smoking session before dinner. At Mr. Green’s house we photo his plants as we had already done for our other friends, the Brothers; Mr. Green gives me 1 gram of Cuban weed, it’s terrible just like the worst Mexican herb you’ve ever had – he tells me this costs $20.00 U.S. per gram. I tell him this is the reason I put my life on the line to bring the Cuban people the books and seeds. I feel bad this is what my friends have to smoke and they have to pay so, so much for it, if they can get it.
Mary Jane is fighting a cold so she heads back to the hotel and I will bring dinner back for her later, for now she wants hot tea and rest so she can enjoy New Year’s Eve tomorrow. El Gato and I have dinner and I ask him to help me find some motorized bicycles I have seen around town, we find some and the kids are very proud of them. Each one is individual and hand built – they are magnificent. They call them Riquinbilies or “Sweet little honey” motorbikes. The kids show off and mess around and held out a full bottle of rum and offered me a drink, again with that beautiful Cuban hospitality.
We walk back to the La Rampa area to the hotel and part ways, El Gato towards home and I just have to have one more espresso before bed. The Cuban coffee is excellent, especially Cubita and the mountain campasino coffee.
New Year’s Eve day, Mary Jane takes a bicycle taxi to see the sights, slowly! Not like in the car at 155 KmPH. She gets her photo taken at the John Lennon Memorial and shops at the local markets.
El Gato and myself are off on a mission. Before coming to Cuba this time I decided I wanted a Cuban Olympic track jacket from the opening ceremonies in Athens. I figured since the games happened months prior and there is no E-bay in Cuba, my chances were good.
Fuck – it would have been easier to arrange lunch with Fidel Castro. We just hit the streets asking anybody and everybody, we walked and drove all of Havana. People brought us to people who might know and so on. Finally, half of the day over, we met a man who said his friend had the jacket, we got his phone # and called throughout the day but he said, call the next day.
That night our friends have fixed a feast of delicious food and drink. We eat, drink and smoke, but my friends never smoke stuff this strong unless I’m in town, so they get real high real fast, or as they say, “I’m flying,” because they never get really high or stoned so there is no words to explain or describe the feeling. Because everybody is as high as fuck, the party slows down and everybody’s chillin’ and listening to music, conversing, etc. At midnight they have a 21 cannon salute from El Morro lighthouse – no fireworks, nothing, which makes seeing the X-mas Eve las Parrandas Festival that much more memorable. The party winds down and we return to the Hotel Nacional. There is a huge banner outside our window, probably 20 feet wind and 40 feet tall, of Fidel with “Viva Cuba” on top and “Feliz Nuevo Ano” on the bottom with the flag in the background – Nice.

We watch some propaganda on television and try to get some sort of real information on the tsunami, we are stunned at what we see. January 1, 2005, New Year’s Day and I am sick as fuck. Let’s just say you could have placed me in the water and launched me 90 miles to Miami. I had food poisoning bad, I slept, lounged, smoked and watched propaganda TV all day. I felt like hell.
Up early and off to El Gato and Mr. Green’s. There is no speech by Castro today, he is reputed to be very sick following his fall a month prior, resulting in a broken knee cap and elbow. There are, however, large rallies with thousands of soldiers.
After meeting El Gato we go pick up my Olympic jacket, I bought it for $50.00 U.S. – score! I still feel kind of ill so we just swim in the Nacional pool and lounge, smoke and go to bed early. Time is short and we’re leaving soon and we still have many things to see and do.
We go to the Marina Hemingway, looking for the owner of a yacht we met two years prior, but he’s in the States. From here we go to the Museo de Air, we pay $2.00 each and we look at all the airplanes – Russian Mig 29’s, 21’s, 23’s – Che Graveras Personal Cesna, a P-51 mustang and a whole wing and empinage tail section of the U2 spyplane.
The curator was not around and my adrenaline level high, I looked at El Gato and said, “I want a piece!” and he replied, “Sure!” so I reached down and popped off a 4” X 6” piece of aluminum from the tail section, a very nice piece, with obvious explosion marks on it. I placed it in my pocket and pretended this international incident never happened. What a rush!
Next to the airplane fragments are the type of missiles that shot it down lined up and ready to fire as if it’s 1962. They are inoperable, of course, but look like art somehow. We leave quickly and continue rushing around the city. We go to a cemetery, El Gato says it’s one of the oldest in Latin America. It is breathtaking. From there we go to Habana 1791, a Perfumery, in business since 1791 and still hand make their essences 18[SUP]th[/SUP] Century style.
We custom blend essences for ourselves and some for gifts. From here it’s off to hang out and smoke with our friends. Later, we return to the wall of shame prison photos across from the special interests building and place a Trichome Technologies decal on the wall and take a photo of me in front of the wall in an ATF jacket, which I do just for personal amusement. I leave the jacket with El Gato as I don’t want to carry it back through U.S. Customs.
 

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That night we go to some friends’ house on the other side of Havana. We have a great time smoking, laughing, chillin’ and listening to music, etc. Mary Jane kicks ass in a few games of Dominoes. (A very popular game in Cuba.) On the way home El Gato tells me to stop, he knows there is one more thing I want to see, the Memorial a Ethel y Julius Rosenburg, an American husband and wife falsely accused of treason, specifically of selling atomic secrets to the Soviet Union. For these false accusations the American government killed them in the electric chair. We pay our respects and return to the Brothers’ house.
Later we go to the Hotel Lincoln where Juan Manuel Fangio, six time world champion auto racer, stayed before being kidnapped by revolutionaries in February 1958, but the room was closed for renovations. I purchase two official baseball jerseys – The Industriales (A team started by Che) and the World Champion, Cuban National Team jersey. One last party with all our friends as tomorrow we’re flying home, 16 hours of travel fun. We say our goodbyes etc. and I give El Gato all my remaining hash supply and pipe.
Up in the morning and off to the airport, stand in line, get to the front and the man at the desk says, “You no fly today,” collects all his belongings and leaves. They overbooked our flight so Cubana Air arranges hotel and transportation to and from the airport, wow. The hotel is the Hotel Neptune, an old Soviet housing building. Three blocks away is the old Soviet embassy. The hotel and food suck and I had given El Gato all my hash but we had already said all our goodbyes so we just stayed at the Neptune.
Next morning we go back to the airport and fly to Cancun. I don’t want an entry stamp in my passport on my supposed departure day from Mexico so I ask the immigration officer not to stamp it and he replies that “It’s the law and he must stamp it”. I discretely give him $10 and ask again for no stamp. He stamps a blank piece of paper on top of my passport and returns my passport to me, no stamp. Voila. From the customs desk we go to the ticket counter and try to explain why we had missed our flight the day before. We could not say we were stranded in Cuba, so we told her we had transportation problems. The desk clerk looked at us as if wondering how could you have transportation problems surrounded by a thousand taxis in Cancun. We get lucky and get a flight with a connection to our final destination. Again, back to Houston, Texas and U.S. Customs, lovely.
 

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The immigration line for foreign travelers is long, very long, and the security screeners just tell you to drop your bags and continue through to customs and on to your final flights. All you can do is hope that your belongings don’t either disappear or you don’t end up in a small room trying to explain where all your Cuban souvenirs came from. Fortunately, our luggage was untouched and uninspected.
It was so nice to return home to my own bed and a big, fat joint. All total we were gone 19 days and drove 2448 kilometers. El Gato and Mr. Green said that the next time I go to Cuba we will have a contest to see who learned the most from the books by having our own cannabis competition, followed by a graduation, & a diploma of sorts awarded. I had to laugh because I could not even being to explain something like this really exists in Amsterdam.
Cuba is incredible, because of the embargo; there is nowhere else in the world like it. But it is not marijuana friendly, nor a ganja destination, hopefully someday it will be and, if that happens, I will take great pleasure in knowing that I had a small part in making it happen. I do not encourage anybody to smuggle to Cuba; if they catch you they will keep you.
As I finish this article the Cuban government is enacting two new laws, the first is that Cuban citizens must avoid tourists, and if they do have contact they must report it, who, why, where, etc., etc. The second is any tourist that is heard condemning the system, Regime or Fidel Castro is to be reported immediately. This is not a place to fuck around. I did what I did because I had to. They were personal missions I challenged myself to perform. And I’m proud I performed admirably. I can’t wait to return.

K

I'd say this cat has the biggest set of anyone I have ever met yet hes such an easy going, quite, super nice guy I just wanted to share this amazing adventure K is not big on puters :)

Sub
 

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SpicySativa

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Great story!!! I'll have to finish it when I'm not at work!

If you have not read them already, I suggest two books by Allan Weisbecker: Cosmic Banditos, and In Search of Captain Zero. This story reminded me a lot of those books...
 
J

Jahlove

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holy shit, that was an awesome story. Thanks so much Sub for sharing that!



Has he been back to visit since that trip?
 
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